


Touched by an Angel

by chartreuse_tendencies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen, I don't even know why the two spn fics I've written are dumb pop culture references, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chartreuse_tendencies/pseuds/chartreuse_tendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from Season 5. Dean makes Castiel play a prank on a poor unsuspecting woman for the sole purpose of curing his boredom. Castiel begrudgingly agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touched by an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Another thing I started a while ago, finished recently, and decided to put up here for posterity. Should probably note that I do not ascribe to Dean's opinions of the individuals in this story. He's a real asshole sometimes. 
> 
> I'm sorry that the only two things I've ever written in the SPN fandom are obnoxious, cracky pop culture references.

Castiel slouches grumpily in the passenger seat of the Impala. “Dean. This is sacrilege.”

Dean bites his fist to stifle his laughter. “You getting worried about offending the Man Upstairs, Hot Wings?”

The angel next to him scowls.

Dean raises a placating hand. “Okay. Think of it this way – you’re actually doing some help here.”

“It doesn’t _count_ ,” Castiel says through gritted teeth, “if I’m saving them from _you_ , now _does it_.”

“Oh, come on. Someone’s gonna smack ‘em with a car one of these days. We’re doing them a favor.” Dean punches Castiel jovially in the shoulder, except he does that thing where it’s like punching a brick wall and – “Fuck! You’re a dick, you know that?”

“I still don’t see why you think this is funny, Dean.”

“Just do it, okay? I could use a goddamn laugh.” Silence. “Though I seem to forget I’m dealing with the King of Comedy here –”

“All right!” Castiel snaps. Dean smirks irritatingly and gestures to the passenger door, but the angel is already glaring at him through the driver’s side window. Dean rolls down the window and leans his head out, surveying the traffic corner in front of him.

“That one.” Dean indicates a middle-aged woman with dyed platinum blonde hair, several shopping bags on each arm, and a large silver crucifix around her neck. “She’ll get a real kick out of this. You remember what you’re supposed to do?”

Castiel nods and squints at her distant figure, now approaching the intersection. “Do you really think that this will go according to your plans?”

Dean reaches under the seat, digs out a bag of chips, shoves some in his mouth. “I’ve been to Nashville hundreds of times,” he explains through a mouthful of potato. “They’re all the same. Total Lifetime junkies. Just go before she sees you bumming with me.”

Castiel glances briefly, apologetically, heavenward; he wills himself a few feet behind her on the sidewalk. The shoppers around him barely bat an eye. A few hundred yards back, he sees Dean pull away from the curb and speed down the road. The woman, deep in conversation on her cell phone, steps into the street.

As the Impala veers and skids dangerously close, passengers scurrying out of its way, Castiel mutters, “I apologize for what I am about to do, Father,” and calmly follows her, raising a hand. Everything freezes for a split second as Castiel presses two fingers to her forehead and sends them both across the street. Time crashes back into existence as Dean’s car screeches to a halt just past the intersection.

The woman screams, ear-splitting, directly into Castiel’s ear. He tries not to flinch.

“What in God’s name just happened?” the woman demands shrilly, her hand flying to her crucifix. _She didn’t mean it,_ Castiel prays hurriedly. He watches as her eyes trace a line from Dean’s car to the road to the man in front of her. He can vaguely hear a stream of (even for Dean) vile obscenities trailing out of the Impala’s window; he makes a pinching motion, and it silences.

“I, um.” Castiel clears his throat, hating every fiber of himself. He arranges his face into what he thinks is a sympathetic expression, but probably ends up looking terrified. “The Lord watches over all of His children,” he begins. “I, uhhh, saw one of His true daughters in need, and I knew I had to. Step in.”

She blinks. “You saved my life?”

“I. Yes.” _Sure_.

The woman rubs at her eye with a knuckle; the rhinestones on her frighteningly long fake nails glisten in a way that nearly makes Castiel go blind. “I don’t understand. I was just crossing the street when all of a sudden I was on the other side—“

“It’s because,” Castiel intones, wishing very much for a sinkhole to open up in the sidewalk and swallow him whole, “I am an angel of the Lord.” He grimaces infinitesimally, rubs thumb and forefinger together. A golden glow suffuses his trench coat, warmer and brighter than the frankly _blistering_ Tennessee sun and thus causing a considerable amount of sweat to trickle down the back of his neck. “I was sent to protect you from this, uh, grave danger.” _Oh, what the Crowley_ , he figures, and blinks twice. A sudden burst of lightning, and twin wing shadows unfurl behind him. The woman gasps wordlessly, clutching her silver cross for dear life. Someone a little ways down the street furrows his brow and checks the radar on his iPhone.

“I—I didn’t think y’all were _real_ , I mean, well, I knew angels were real but I didn’t think they, you know,” she stammers, finally finding her words.

“Oh! Oh yes, we are, _very_ real.” _More than you’ll ever know, mortal_ , he thinks darkly, but all the same, he lifts his eyebrows the way he sees Sam do when he’s trying to comfort someone. It comes off much more incredulous on him. “And we are _always_ watching.” A long beat. “Out for you. Watchingoutforyou,” he adds quickly.

“ _Thank you_ ,” the woman breathes, tears glistening in her eyes. Castiel nods, attempts a strained, beatific smile, and turns on his heel in a flutter of trench coat and feathers.

A few breaths later, Castiel appears in the passenger seat to find Dean thumping the steering wheel and hooting noiselessly. Castiel ponders leaving him like this, but he realizes that allowing Dean to speak is far preferable to Cheeto crumbs and chicken wing bones in his bed or Yanni’s entire discography at maximum volume for the entirety of a twelve-hour drive, and he taps his shoulder lightly. The car explodes in a cacophony of raucous laughter.

“Aw, _man_! You should’ve seen the look on her _face_! You gave Della Reese a run for her money with that one.” Castiel fixes Dean with a weary expression. “Never mind. You did great.” Still chuckling, he guides the car into a nearby parking lot and kills the engine, leaning back in his seat to catch his breath. Through the very edges of his peripheral vision, he sees the corner of Castiel’s mouth twitch. “What’s that?” Dean teases, cupping a hand to his ear dramatically. “Does Feather-Brains here not want to admit that he _might have_ enjoyed that, just a _little_?”

Castiel lets out a breath and lowers his eyes. “It’s good to see you laugh,” he admits. He fumbles with the car door latch before finally letting himself out to join Dean on the sidewalk. There is a moment where neither of them speaks.

“Hey,” Dean says awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets, “um, thanks. For playing along. That was kind of stupid but you did it anyway, and it was pretty funny, so, yeah.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” There is a suggestion of a smile in the outside corners of his eyes. That is all he will allow, for now.

“All right, c’mon,” Dean says gruffly, clapping Castiel roughly on the shoulder and guiding him down the street, “let’s take you to O’Malley’s and win some drinking contests.”


End file.
